


All hail the King

by Schattenfeuer



Category: Nightmare Harem (Visual Novel)
Genre: Darkfic, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, Other, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:02:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25745542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schattenfeuer/pseuds/Schattenfeuer
Summary: The old king is dead, long live the king.
Relationships: Mefy/MC





	All hail the King

If someone where to ask him about her, what he thought about her, he would answer with one of his not-smiles, thin and narrow like a piano wire, ready to wrap around an unguarded throat and squeeze until the life itself was gone, until the skin was blue and cold. And if they would still press on, continue this suicidal line of questions and thoughts, he would relent, only for an inch. 

“A useful tool”, he would answer, his smile dropping and the dark shadows clouding breezy eyes, tainting their once pure color into something sinister and possessive. “Nothing more. But-!”

He would hold up one finger in a gesture of drawing attention, of caution, while the possessiveness in his eyes would grow, worse and spread like an epidemic of the worst kind, would twist his face into a grimace - somewhere between a snare and a smile. 

“She is mine.”

His. His to use, his to destroy, his useful little pet, his darling doll. It was thanks to her, that he got this far, further than he had ever imagined when he set the first stone rolling. When she first came here, when he first set his eyes upon her, he thought of her as a delicate rose. Pretty but average, for roses grew in every garden, were forgiving and just as easily crushed. But she did not perish, she pushed through, her kindness as sickly sweet as the first day, even now. 

She was no more a simple rose, she was something different, soft and yielding and his to mold in a shape of his desire. This was no love, he sneered at that thought, laughed when he remembered her desperate babbling back then, when they both were drenched, dappled in red moonlight, as if they had just stepped out of a bath filled with fresh blood. She was a sickness in the way that she clung to him, that he could not find the strength in himself to get rid of her, so he pushed her deeper, further under his skin, until she became one with his flesh, an infection that only strengthened his iron will. 

This was why it enraged him, turned his eyes colder than ever before, when he saw her broken fingers, her bruised skin and tattered clothes, the tears unshed shimmering in her tears together with regret. She regretted, everything, it was etched into the thin softness under her eyes, which was darkened by the lack of rest. It showed itself in the narrow lines etched into her features, screamed at him in the bleak absence of her smiles. Now, she was like him, was the enemy to everyone that resided in this hellish mansion, he disliked the way the others turned against her, because their insults pearled off his back like raindrops. 

She was weak and they knew it, like the hounds of hell they chased and chased after her, foolish, dense human with a spine out of iron as she kept reaching out, despite the snap of her bones vibrating within her skull, he did not stop her. She would learn her lesson after the tenth or so time they had ripped and slashed her flesh, painted her skin black and blue with their fists. 

She never did. And he learned that even spines out of iron could rust and bent. The process was slow, like a toxin from an old wound, once infected and long healed over, concealed by scarred skin, the rust started to eat through all of her, snapping one by one the strings that connected her to his fingertips. His cherished little doll became dull and sluggish as he manipulated her through plan after plan, her thoughts no longer centered on him but jumping from what-if’s to make-belief’s to I’m sorry’s. 

The blood and the death and the intrigue followed her every footstep, he saw it in the shapes of her shadow, as the curve of her spine became more and more jagged the longer this went on, yet, he still did nothing. Too focused on the crown so deliciously close, almost in his reach, he kept making her dance to his tune, despite the guilt tarnishing her form she was still sweet and easy to fall for, his enemies saw her as an unfortunate casualty instead of his avatar, his tool and weapon, the shield behind which he could hide his true intentions. 

How this escalated into this, he did not knew. Only the end result mattered as he stepped over the bodies towards the throne that belonged to him, had always belonged to him, the patter of her feet a soothing echo in the too silent hall as he picked up the discarded crown, holding it high above his head before placing it on the green softness of his hair, twirling on his heel he grinned a wide, broken grin of success. He had done it, was at the end of this long, tortuous journey that took everything from him, yet rewarded him so sweetly at the end of it all. 

“I told you I would succeed!”, he sighed so sweetly as he grabbed one of her hands, still soft, despite the bandages and scars, he pressed his thin lips against the warmth of her palm, up to her wrist, where the beating of her pulse hammered steadily against his lips. Sharp eyes missed no twitch,no hitching of her breath, despite all he put her through, she was still completely fallen for him, sticky, heavy satisfaction spreading through his narrow chest. “Why aren’t you smiling?”

“I...am?”, she sounded so unsure, the corner of her lips twitching but that was it, she could not get any further, it was as if all strength had left her muscles, the color of her hair was marred with silver, he noticed now too. The frown on his features deepened, no, he did not love her, but he relied on her, so much that the lack of her affection unsettled him. Pulling on her skinny arm, he drew her closer, in the mirror of her desolate eyes, he saw himself scowling back at him, the crown too large for his head, he looked like a child, lost in an ocean of dulled color. 

“Is this how you respect your king?”, he nudged her further while pulling her tighter, entrapping her within the cage of his arms. Along the long line of hand shaped bruises on her arm he added his own with how tightly he grabbed her wrist, her pulse jumping angrily against the tip of his fingers while his claws drew the first droplets of scarlet blood. Tilting her head up, he leaned closer, even closer until their breath mingled and his own reflection glared daggers at him from her eyes. 

“The king is dead.”, she whispered back, the double arc of her lips brushing against his own, one hand, previously limp and useless dangling at her side came up, brushed the flash of green hair from his cheek and the unease in his stomach spiked. Closing the last inch of distance he forced her mouth open, dead set to steal the very last of her breath from her lungs as compensation for the smile she lost the night he killed his brother. “Long live the king.”

Her words were rasped and breathless, lifeless in the way they came over her tongue like glass marbles, beautiful only for a moment before they shattered upon colliding with the hard floor that was reality. Bitterness spread on his tongue and he pushed her away, furious and … scared. 

“What did you do?!”, the crown fell from his head when he collapsed on his knees, for the second time in his life a puppet with cut strings. Clasping his hands in front of his mouth, he coughed, hacked and spat as the bitter taste of cold ash on his tongue turned to rusted knives slicing through his gums and throat. Soft warmth spread from the top of his head, where she had placed her palm, slowly caressing his hair like one would do with a terrified child. “What did you DO?!”

This was not how it would end! Not now! Not like this! Not when the crown he desired his entire life was rolling into his lap, while the bodies of his enemies weren’t even cold yet. And in the midst of all she stood, with her rusted spine out of iron, her hand soothing his pain with motherly affection and guilt eating away the last of her humanity before his very eyes. And finally, she smiled, dead and empty, her teeth stained crimson, just like his own. 

“All hail the king.”


End file.
